


Percival, Super(Stalker)Spy

by HiMiTSu



Series: Kingsman Tumblr Prompts [6]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Cute, Jelous!Percival, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 21:17:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6167125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiMiTSu/pseuds/HiMiTSu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a tumblr prompt: http://mysteryismyart.tumblr.com/post/140349465890/percilot-prompt-because-why-not-hes-going-out</p><p>Third week in a row on a Saturday morning Lancelot leaves the headquarters, dressed to impress and with a spring in his step. Percival is concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Percival, Super(Stalker)Spy

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on tumblr a couple days ago, repost here now. My first prompt fic in a while:)

Percival glances over the book in his hands, inconspicuous in his careful observing of a fellow Kingsman. Lancelot strides across the back terrace, not in a hurry per se but definitely anxious to get out. A gravel path leads from the terrace right to the main garage – the easiest way to get back to the city for those who are not running work related errands.

Lancelot takes a familiar route, dressed as casually as a man of their tastes could allow himself – beige pants combined with a neat polo in pale blue, a sports jacket slung over an arm. Casual, but still tasteful – dressed to impress, is Percival’s guess. Third Sunday in a row he watches his colleague, and probably a reluctant friend, run out at the same time, neatly dressed and anxious looking. As if he’s running late for a date.

And that brings Percival to his main problem – why should he care whether Lancelot has found someone to spend his free time with? _Someone else_ , is what Percival is trying not to think. Why, after years of rebuffing the man’s advances and escaping his annoying company, Percival found himself here? Right on the back terrace, a beautiful view of the garden nothing but a backdrop to his small spying operation. He has a book in his hands, a clever little touch if you ask him, which he pretends to read while the object of his recent stalking dashes past with a wave and a wide smile. Suspiciously wide smile, Percival concludes. This might warrant further investigation.

Third week in a row Percival watches a chipper Lancelot disappear down the gravel path into the garage, but this time he is ready. He rushes to his feet as soon as the other man disappears from sight, and makes his way quickly to the gate at the back of the garden; it’s a long walk so he picks up his pace until it almost turns into a jog and upon reaching the car that is parked just on the edge of the perimeter he floors the gas pedal until the trees on the side of the road turn into a blur. Lancelot should be out of the garage by now but Percival can catch up to him on the main road. He made a trial run the previous day, proving his calculations impeccable as always.

He speeds down the empty country road until a turn takes him to the main road; traffic is small and Lancelot’s bright red car is a beacon in the distance. The drive to the city is uneventful with Percival careful to keep his distance and Lancelot not expecting any chase and thus a little careless. And very excited about his date no doubt, Percival’s treacherous mind whispers. There is nothing to stop the doubt pouring in through the cracks in his mind: why was he doing this? What was the point of this endeavor? To catch Lancelot in a happy embrace of a new lover – what would that do? How would that make him _feel_?

Percival is on the verge of backing out, but Lancelot’s car is slowing down, stopping in front of a cozy little café on the outskirts of town. No going back now. He parks a couple blocks away and steels himself for the ridiculous but no less heavy task at hand.

The café has huge floor to ceiling windows, flowers at the front not much to hide what’s going on inside, so he takes a peek, his gaze quickly locking on the desired target. Lancelot is sitting at the table near the counter, a pretty blond woman across from him. She is putting away a book she must have been reading while waiting and Lancelot greets her warmly, all smiles and animated gestures. They hug briefly and then the man dashes to the counter to put their order in. Percival feels he had seen enough. There is a pub just across the street and that’s where he settles after, not to drown his sorrows on alcohol but to at least clear his mind of unwanted images. He is so immersed into his own thoughts he only notices a person sitting down next to him when a hand reaches to grab his pint. Percival starts and then his eyes register a very familiar sports jacket’s sleeve; his gaze travels upward and lands on a very amused Lancelot, who smirks and takes a healthy gulp. “So…wasn’t expecting to see you here?”

Percival is at a loss for words for a moment so what’s on the foremost of his mind slips out, “How did you know I was here?”

“Saw your car down the street,” Lancelot shrugs and puts down the pint, sliding it smoothly over the tabletop to rest before Percival again. “But that was after I noticed you inconspicuously walking by the coffee shop window. A couple of times.” His tone is light, more amused than anything – but Percival wasn’t actually expecting the other agent to be mad, which does not diminish the humiliation he can practically feel running through his veins. So he takes a big pull from his pint, stalling as well as hoping the alcohol would help him get through this.

“And don’t say it’s merely a coincidence.” Lancelot shoots before Percival can come up with a reasonable explanation. His smirk grows into a full on grin, eyes shining with mirth. “Were you following me?”

So maybe letting him run this conversation wasn’t Percival’s best idea. Denying everything is his first impulse, but that would be a wrong move – that much is obvious. “Maybe.” Is what he goes with.

“Maybe?” Lancelot echoes; his eyebrows do some ridiculous dance, rising up and down over his bright eyes – full with some ridiculous meaning only he knows about. It’s very hard to ignore though.

“All right, yes, I was.” Percival admits quickly; just like that – like tearing the band aid. No use playing coy, and he’s never been good at that. It’s more Lancelot’s forte.

“And, my dear friend, why?”

Percival gulps, staring silently back. Lancelot is leaning into his space, close enough that Percival could feel the smell of his cologne, unusually sweet for a male product, but fitting perfectly. So he opens up with, “You have been acting strangely.”

Lancelot nods with exaggerated interest.

“Going out every Sunday, at the same time…”

“Oh yes, that is terribly suspicious.” Lancelot concedes with humor.

Percival can only glare at his grinning friend, not sure how to continue. Lancelot laughs but it ends abruptly and he sobers up. “Where you…jealous?” The humor is gone and suddenly Percival feels the weight of the question fall on his shoulders. They are crossing the line here, now. This moment might determine their future relationship, whether he goes forward with a confession or backs out – it is his decision what is coming next. Percival is a cautious man, but he had never been a coward.

“Maybe.” That sounds weak even to his own ears and the moment Lancelot’s tentative smile turns into a frown he amends, “Yes.”

The change is instant and imminent, Lancelot’s face lights up and he leans closer with an excited whisper, “Really?”

Percival wants to be annoyed by the childish glee in the other man’s eyes, but it’s too endearing to shut down. Maybe he is in even deeper than he thought. He nods, unable to form more words and waits. He’s done his part, now it’s Lancelot’s turn to reject him gently so Percival can go on with his self-pity and drinking. He already planned the whole speech Lancelot would give in his head, so it takes him completely off guard when he hears, “Well, you shouldn’t have.”

The comment is so off- handed and the glee is Lancelot’s eyes so bright, Percival loses perception of what is happening.

“I was having lunch with my sister. She’s in town for a couple of weeks and we made arrangements to meat up every Saturday for lunch to catch up.”

In the next moment two feelings are fighting to overwhelm Percival – the relief is first but it is chased by the utter embarrassment. He had not felt such a fool since high school; those days should have been long gone.

“She’s leaving tomorrow, so…” Lancelot continues, ignorant to Percival’s inner battle. “You can take me to lunch next Sunday.” He smiles and winks, so bright and beautiful, ever playful and full of life. Percival does not waste time to contemplate when he managed to fall in love with this fool, doesn’t try to remember the exact moment he first wanted to kiss those always grinning lips…

He nods, and smiles and says, “Alright. It’s a date.”

 


End file.
